Follow Me Home

by Leona Karr

“I can’t believe he doesn’t have a family of his own. He seems so…so supportive and understanding. Has he ever been married?”

  “I don’t think so.” Jill wasn’t about to pass on anything Scotty had told her about Hal’s unhappy love affair.

  Sue sighed. “What a loss. Maybe he just hasn’t met the right woman.”

  “I don’t think he’s looking for one,” Jill answered evenly. The conversation was heading in a direction that made her uncomfortable. “Why don’t I raid the fridge and see what I can find for a snack. Take another little nap while I scoot down to the kitchen.”

  Sue nodded, closed her eyes, and Jill would have bet the new mother was asleep even before she left the room. All of the bedroom doors were closed as she went down the hall. Earlier, Hal had poked his head into Sue’s room to say good-night. “Don’t be afraid to call me if you need anything.”

  “I won’t,” she’d promised.

  As she passed his door, she visualized him in tumbled sleep, shocks of wayward hair drifting forward on his face, his wonderful full lips relaxed and supple. The memory of his kisses shot a jolt of warmth through her. She bet he slept in the nude. Somehow, pajamas didn’t fit with the image of his strong, muscular virility. She remembered the tantalizing length of his hips and legs pressed against her body and the sweet promise of his mouth tugging at her lips. What would it be like to fall asleep with his naked body cupping hers? To turn over in his arms as demanding desire arched between them? Stop it, she chided herself. Don’t be an adolescent fool. An emotional situation had created the intimacy they’d shared. Once reality settled in, they’d both have the good sense not to blow the momentary attraction out of proportion. She wasn’t looking to complicate her life any more than he was. Sadly enough, both of them had lost loved ones, her husband by death, and his Carrie by rejection. She was no more willing than he was to open herself up to that kind of heartache again.

  A hushed somnolence lay on the house. The stairs were illuminated by a small wall light. Her slippers whispered on the carpet and her elongated shadow played ahead of her as she descended to the floor below. She paused near the front door to listen to the assaulting wind and seemingly endless snow. No sign that the storm had grown weary of its rampaging and was losing energy. How long would they be snowbound? Surely they would be able to dig out before another twenty-four hours went by. Isolation seemed to be creating a growing claustrophobia. Her own nerves were frayed, and the tension and short tempers rising among the men were nearly unbearable.

  The door to the den was slightly ajar as she passed through the hall and she could hear someone snoring loudly. She smiled, wondering whether it was Zack or Kirby who sounded like a bull moose. Since the two men usually shared the bunkhouse, she supposed that such nightly snoring was part of the challenge of rooming together. Maybe one of them wore earplugs.

  At the end of the hall, the kitchen was dark except for a small light over the stove. She let her fingers play over the wall and found a light switch just inside the door. The wagon-wheel chandelier that hung by a chain over the long table instantly sent a glow of light below. Kirby had left the kitchen in an orderly state, counters clean and the floor swept.

  She started across the room toward the refrigerator, but before she reached it, the kitchen was suddenly plunged into darkness. For a stunned moment, she froze, blinking against sudden blindness.

  Her ears were filled with the fury of the storm battering the house. The wailing wind rose in a threatening crescendo, and in the darkness, the house seemed to vibrate from the onslaught.

  What should she do? She swallowed, trying to suppress a rising panic. Would the backup generator automatically kick in with the loss of power? Was there a switch somewhere to turn it on? Would anyone else in the house realize the electricity had gone out? She wasn’t sure that she could make her way upstairs to Hal’s room in total darkness. As she hesitated, a soft whisper of movement behind her reached her ears. An instinctive awareness alerted her that she wasn’t alone in the darkness.

  She jerked around. “Hal?”

  No answer.

  “Who’s there?” Even though she couldn’t see distinct forms in the enveloping blackness, she knew someone was moving toward her. “I never did like blindman’s buff,” she said with a false laugh. “Hal, is that you?”

  Faint, hushed, quickened breathing was her only answer. Her mouth went dry. No, not Hal. She felt a cold menace in the unseen presence. The insidious miasma in the darkness was almost palpable.

  “Who is it?” Recoiling from an undefinable threat, she jerked backwards. In the hasty movement she bumped a kitchen chair so hard that it went crashing to the floor. As the noise reverberated in the room, she sensed the unseen presence retreating. At once, doubts began to assail her. Had the darkness made her paranoid? Was her imagination making a fool out of her? She choked back a scream, and for a long moment just stood there in the dark, afraid to move, but hesitant to raise everyone in the house with frightened cries.

  When she heard loud footsteps in the hall, she was thankful that the decision had been taken out of her hands. The beam of a flashlight broke the darkness in the kitchen doorway, and as the circle of light caught her, she heard Hal’s surprised, “Jill? I didn’t know you were down here. I was trying to read when the lights went out. Stay where you are and I’ll go down in the basement and see to the backup generator. It doesn’t have an automatic switch.”

  “No, don’t leave me.” Her voice was shaky. “I’ll go with you.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “Please, I don’t want to stay here…alone.”

  He moved quickly to her side and was instantly aware that she was trembling. She must have been shaken by the lights going out. He never would have guessed that she would be so terrified of the dark. He took her hand, surprised to find it moist with perspiration.

  “You really don’t like the dark, do you?” he said lightly. “All right. The basement door is just beyond the pantry. You’ll have to be careful. The basement steps are steep.”

  She clutched his hand so tightly that her nails bit into his flesh as he guided her across the room to the basement door and shone his flashlight down into a pit of blackness.

  “Watch your step,” he cautioned, carefully guiding her down the narrow staircase. Her breathing was strained and she cowered against him like a child expecting the bogeyman to jump out at any moment.

  When they reached the bottom, he let the ray of light play over the musty, low-ceilinged cellar so that she could see her surroundings and be reassured that no one was hiding in the corners. When central heating had been installed, the old coal furnace had been taken out, but the acidic coal smell had lingered in the rock walls and flagstone floor. He’d emptied out most of the accumulation left by his parents. Nothing much remained since he used storage areas in the attic, garage, barn and bunkhouse, rather than this dank, fusty-smelling cellar.

  “The generator’s over here.” He led the way around a central butane furnace. “You hold the flashlight so I can see what I’m doing.”

  A moment later, Hal let out the breath he’d been holding. Thank heavens, the backup generator was functioning. The lights in the kitchen and the one he’d turned on in the basement came on in all their glory.

  “Let there be light,” he said with a satisfied smile, but as he looked at Jill, his expression sobered. She was as rigid and taut as a strung bow. Her face was drained of color and anxious lines marred the corners of her eyes. He was startled by the fright in her eyes. “I’m really sorry.” Gently he touched her face and smoothed back some tousled strands of hair around her face. “I should have made sure you had a flashlight in case we lost power. If I’d known you were so terrified of the dark—”

  “It’s not that,” she answered curtly, trying to organize her thoughts so they made sense. “I’m not afraid of being in the dark.”

  “Then what?” he prodded gently. He put his arm around her waist, and she kept close to his si
de as they walked back upstairs. “Please, tell me what’s the matter.”

  She hesitated. Would he think her more of a fool if she tried to explain? She wasn’t sure herself what had happened. As lingering quivers trailed up her spine, she decided to go with her gut feeling. “Someone frightened me.”

  “Frightened you?” He looked steadily into her anxious eyes. “I don’t understand. Who? When?”

  “I don’t know who.” Her voice gathered momentum. “But when the lights went out, I sensed someone in the kitchen with me.”

  “And he touched you?”

  “No, but I knew someone was there. I could hear the whisper of his breathing.” She shivered again, remembering.

  “It could have been the wind outside. In the dark, sounds are often indistinguishable.”

  “It wasn’t the wind. It was someone’s breath.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did he say?” He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her as firmly as he would a child.

  “Nothing.”

  “Maybe you just got rattled because it was dark. You could have simply imagined that somebody was there.”

  “I could have, but I didn’t” She lifted her head and met his eyes squarely. “Believe what you want. Someone scared me spitless, and I knocked over a kitchen chair trying to back away. The sound of the crash must have scared off whoever it was. Didn’t you hear the noise?”

  “Yes, but I thought it was outside. I didn’t know it came from the kitchen. Why would anyone want to frighten you?”

  “You tell me.” Even though she was tempted to lean into his strong embrace, she turned around and sat down in a chair. “Did you run into anyone in the hall?”

  “No. But I didn’t pay much attention. I suppose I could have passed someone in the dark. I thought the whole house was asleep and was startled to find you standing in the dark kitchen.” He didn’t doubt for a minute that she’d been truly frightened, but he was just as certain that her imagination was responsible for it. From the set of her chin, he knew better than to challenge her. “Well, the lights are on now. And I’m here to make sure that you’re safe and sound.” His warm eyes bathed her face.

  “You don’t believe me. Do you? Just like you didn’t believe me about the bookmark.” She couldn’t let it go. She needed to be convinced of her own rationality.

  “I know something frightened you,” he said softly.

  “Not something—someone!” she protested.

  “Jill, you’ve been under a lot of stress the last twenty-four hours. I think it’s time you let Gary tend to his wife while you get some sleep,” he said, frowning with concern. “You’ve held up beautifully. It’s no wonder your nerves are a little frayed.”

  She could tell he was patronizing her. He didn’t believe her. Not for one minute. And how could she blame him? Now that she stood in the well-lighted kitchen, she was beginning to have doubts herself. Only the overturned chair seemed to be valid evidence of the unseen stalker’s presence. Stalker? Why had she used that term?

  “What is it?” His eyes swept over her face. “You’ve suddenly gone as white as a bleached bone. What’s going on? There’s something more, isn’t there?”

  She searched his face and felt a rush of gratitude for the sincere concern she saw there. “Yes, there’s more.”

  “Would you like to tell me about it?” He drew up a chair beside her. He took her hand and waited. “I’m listening.”

  She hesitated, then drew in a deep breath and took the plunge. What did she have to lose? He probably already thought her some kind of neurotic female. This was the second time she’d unloaded on him, first in the attic, and now in the middle of the night.

  In crisp, succinct sentences, she told about the silent phone calls, the book, the notes, the pink scarf and the doctored photo. She watched his face, trying to decide what he was making of all of it. “The whole thing has put me on edge, made me feel vulnerable all the time.”

  “Good heavens, Jill,” he said, frowning with concern. “Now I understand why you reacted the way you did, plunged into the dark like that. And you’ve no idea who the bastard is?”

  “None.”

  “And what have you done about this harassment?”

  “Nothing, yet.”

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked, exasperated. “Some nut’s running around stalking you, and you don’t even go to the authorities?”

  “Until I received the doctored photo I didn’t realize this person had been close enough to take my picture without me even knowing it. Even if he used a telephoto lens, he was too darn close.” Her voice broke. “I wasn’t really frightened until then.” She turned quickly away from him so he wouldn’t see a sudden fullness flooding her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she choked.

  “Sorry for what?” He gently pulled her to her feet and once again cradled her in his arms. Tears eased out from the fringe of her eyelashes and slowly trickled down the sweet curve of her cheeks. Fury that someone could put her through this kind of hell mingled with a tumultuous swell of protective tenderness. “After what you’ve told me, it’s no wonder you reacted the way you did when the lights went out”

  “But you still don’t believe me. You still think I was imagining the whole thing.”

  “The mind can play all kinds of tricks, especially under stress,” he said softly. “And you’ve had plenty of that in the last twenty-four hours. I honestly think that your recent anxieties about a stalker must have triggered the impression that someone was closing in on you. But you’re safe here. Absolutely safe. I guarantee it.” He brushed back a wisp of a curl on her cheek. “And I’ll talk to the sheriff myself. I’ll make damn sure he listens to me. You’ll get the protection you need against any nut out there.”

  Instead of protesting with her usual independence that she could take care of the matter herself, she simply nodded. His strength and confidence neutralized any argument. She willingly drew on his assurance. When he let his hands slip down to the rigid cords of her neck and shoulders and began to knead them gently, she didn’t protest, either. He had good hands. Strong. Firm. And wonderfully gentle. She knew that she was dangerously vulnerable. It had been a long time since she’d been cosseted by such a tender loving touch. She relaxed against him, and to her astonishment, he lightly swung her up in his arms and carried her out of the kitchen.

  “Put me down,” she gasped, instantly wary. She wasn’t sure whether to be angry, indignant, or amused at the manhandling. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Putting you to bed.”

  “I’ve…I’ve got to get some milk and toast for Sue,” she stammered.

  “I’ll see to it,” he said briskly as he carried her upstairs.

  “Gary’s sleeping in my room,” she protested.

  “No matter,” he said as he purposefully carried her into his room. The bed was still made up and a light shone over a chair where he had thrown down the book he’d been reading.

  “No,” she protested as he set her down on the bed.

  “No, what?” He raised an innocent eyebrow.

  “You know what!” Had she given him the impression that she was the kind of woman who didn’t care whose bed she slept in? The fact that they had shared a few explosive kisses was not enough for her. Even though he’d ignited desires that fired her passionate nature, she wanted more than a few scattered hours of ecstasy. She searched for the right words to tell him so. She couldn’t sleep in his bed. She couldn’t. And did he imagine that she’d have no objection to sharing it with him? She was disappointed in him and in herself, too—the thought of lying in his warm arms was much too inviting. “I prefer my own bedroom, thank you.”

  “What’s the matter with mine? Doesn’t the decor suit your fancy?”

  She gave a hasty glance around the large combination bedroom and sitting room. The furnishings were a masculine tan and brown but with a surprising touch of jonquil yellow in the drapes and bedspr
ead. Even in the dim light of the one lamp, she could see that there was a harmonious blend of new and old furniture. “It’s a nice room but—”

  “I’m glad you approve,” he said as he opened a bureau drawer, took out a blue-striped pajama top and tossed it to her. “Put that on.”

  She knew her mouth had dropped open. Before she could get to her feet in indignation and throw the top back at him, he turned his back on her and walked away from the bed.

  “Better lock the door after me,” he said, giving her a departing grin, so knowing and so amused that she wanted to throw something at him. “And don’t show yourself until you’ve gotten some sleep,” he ordered, closing the door with a punctuating click.

  She felt more than slightly foolish. He’d known darn well that she was all fired up to ward off his romantic advances. He must have been chuckling to himself as she prepared to defend her honor. The truth of the matter was that she wasn’t at all certain she would have resisted his persuasive advances. And even though she bristled at his heavy-handed orders, she knew he was right about her need to get some sleep. Her nerves were frayed. The long day with Sue during labor and the emotional drain of delivering the baby had taken their toll. She’d been on the edge of hysteria when Hal had found her. In retrospect, it could have been paranoia that made her think someone was with her in the dark. That business with the stalker had set her on edge. Anxiety had been building with every frightening contact made by the stalker. The horrible photo had finally broken her nerve. No wonder she let her imagination fill her with terror. Thank heavens Hal had found her before she made a fool of herself by waking everyone up with her hysterical screaming.

  The pajama top fell below her knees like a nightshirt as she crawled under the heavy weight of thick blankets and discovered that one side of the mattress was bumpy with dents that must have been made by Hal’s body weight. Obviously he slept on the left side of the bed, she thought as she scooted to the other side and laid her head on one of the pillows.

  She knew it was adolescent foolishness, but she felt self-conscious sleeping in his bed. His presence in the room and in the bed was undeniable. A disturbing sensual awareness teased her with a vision of his warm body stretched out beside her. What kind of a lover would he be? She’d glimpsed a deep core of sensitivity that he kept hidden under an outwardly confident manner. If he ever gave himself to a woman, it would not be a shallow gesture. He wasn’t that kind of man. She wondered what dreams filled his head when he laid it upon this very pillow? Did he think about Carrie? Did he feel a deep-seated loneliness when he awoke in the morning, the way she did?